


Biological Imperative

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Bondage, Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Illnesses, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Worn down by the parasite eating him alive from the inside out, Alex Mercer is confronted by Elizabeth Greene.  She takes full advantage of his weakened condition, but not quite in the way Alex would expect her to.
Relationships: Alex Mercer/Elizabeth Greene
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Biological Imperative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).

He felt drawn out.

The rending pain in his shoulders had faded to a persistent soreness and increasing feel of emptiness. That was probably a bad sign—Ragland had to hurry up with the cure he was making before the parasite ate him from the inside out.

Had to hurry.

He looked down at the street, vision blurring, shifting. Briefly he saw heat, dozens of warm bodies before he shut his eyes and focused. He wasn’t sure if his hand was paler or if his eyesight was still not quite right when things returned to normal; he was mainly grateful he could still force it back to normal. He pondered his options as a pack of infected chased down some fleeing… civilian, he determined after staring too long.

Maybe more biomass would provide some form of buffer; more the parasite would have to eat through. Maybe not maybe it would take the lions share of what he hunted and grow stronger. He gripped the rooftop tight as the world spun off its axis for a minute—he had become so used to easily traversing the city the increasing lack of coordination he was feeling was difficult to compensate for.

There were no hunters about.

This was the only reason he dropped from the roof to the ground—he was weak and getting weaker. Shepherding Ragland to and from that abandoned base in Harlem showed he was barely capable of fighting off Hunters without an entire military base’s worth of munitions strewn about anymore. He needed to pick hunting grounds carefully now.

Walkers or fleeing people, didn’t matter much, and until his vision really cleared and his sense of hearing resharpened, it hadn’t been easy to figure out who was who. More mass did seem to improve him, to a degree. At least, until something in his spine twisted and tugged and began pulling him from himself.

Ragland couldn’t get the cure done fast enough.

Thinks crunched and gurgled as he wrestled his fifth, sixth, whatever number it was infected down and snapped its spine in half, tendrils digging in. He wasn’t sure if he was consuming things lethargically, or if things just seemed to be moving slowly to him, but the thing crumpled in on itself and was picked apart, he realized the same thing was happening on an even slower scale to him.

He was about to pick another when his eyes locked on _her._ She was nonchalantly surveying the scene, leaving him wondering if she had been there the entire time and he simply had missed her while trying to fight his senses back into working order.

Elizabeth Greene.

Charging her was a stupid move. She’d thrown him around with ease when they first met—he’d grown stronger since, had thought he maybe could overpower her, but that was before the parasite. She dodged a swing and sent him sprawling across the street. His eyes locked on the front bumper of a derelict car—he was still strong enough to bludgeon her with it. He began to push himself to his feet.

That was when fingers ran along his back, across what looked like leather. It bubbled and writhed at her touch, and the parasite under his skin screamed. Or maybe he screamed, it wasn’t like it mattered. He only realized he was indoors when the scream stopped and he picked himself up off of glass and tile. He forced himself to his feet only for the floor to collapse underneath him, landing in meat and blood. The hive biomass was _hot_, to the degree that he couldn’t see anything except hot.

Something landed wetly behind him, and his vision cleared enough to register Greene before he was dragged off his feet. Red, rough flesh curled around his leg, pulling him to the ground. He kicked and thrashed as tentacles curled around him, holding him in place. He couldn’t break free; however the mass he consumed had helped him, he was far from full strength.

He started up at her, and she stared down at him for a long time. She looked like she always had, in his personal experience and the memories of a dozen dead doctors. Impassive. There was an ache in his shoulder, angry and pulsing. She could wait him out. “What do you want?”

He was utterly at her mercy, but for whatever reason she was just standing there, looking at him. What was she after? The infected had never pulled their punches with him before, so he had to assume she still wanted him dead. He furrowed his brow and growled. Her answer didn’t clear things up.

“You’re hurt.”

“What?”

She rose her hands to the thick, rubber collar of that suit she was in. She pulled until it tore, and kept at it. Alex kept his eyes on her as she tore a line in her suit from her neck to her navel, and then wriggled and peeled herself out of it. From the moment she managed to free her first shoulder, he could see her body was an interconnected maze of varicose veins, biopsy scars, sores, and medical ports.

Strips of rubber landed soundlessly against he mat of meat at her feet. She had exposed herself down to her crotch, paying no heed to the various scientific mutilations she bore, only focusing on tearing the remainding scraps of her suit. Ragged pieces of sleeves and legs came off, and then her focus returned to Alex.

He glanced her over as she sauntered up, standing right at his feet. He tried to jerk forward, thrash his way out of the tentacles that bound him, but accomplished nothing as she knelt, tentatively running a hand over his legs, against his crotch. Well, he just realized what her intentions with him were.

“Back off.” He said with as much force as he could muster.

In response the tentacles holding him down _bit in_, digging into his flesh in a dozen red hot moments of pain that faded almost immediately. Something shifted. There was _pressure_, not pain as his limbs shifted and flowed and he felt the parasite in his spine fighting against something new—there was a momentary sense of freedom as whatever Greene was doing to him tangled against what the parasite was doing, and he resumed the struggle, only for Greene’s tentacles to just _stop _what they’d been doing.

It was back to him and the parasite playing tug-of-war over his own biology, as he grit his teeth and saw in infrared for a second while the room spun despite him being tangled and still. He looked down and saw what Greene had accomplished—she’d forced him to shapeshift, out of the denim and leather and cloth. She looked him over, maybe disappointed that he was still flacid.

He attempted to regrow his clothes, only for the parasite to go into a frenzy that it only used to display when he tried to do something more advanced, like claws or a shield. He arched his back and let out a cry between clenched teeth, and the next thing he realized she was kneeling, straddling his chest.

Then she lifted herself up and planted herself on his face, crotch against his closed mouth. His mind flashed to a hundred different memories—S&M pornography a Blackwatch soldier had a stash of, a sorority pledge night from ten years ago he’d gotten from a Gentek lab technician, a wild honeymoon.

She smelled of rot and want, and grinded against his face, hands grabbing his hair and hips rocking with urgency not reflected on her face. He set his jaw. Nails began to dig into his scalp and the tentacles on his limbs tightened and pulsed. Muscles in her face tensed and she spoke.

He didn’t have an interest. He slid his tongue inside her.

She gripped him tighter, pulling him in closer, if that was even possible.

He had plenty of borrowed experience to rely on. He was caught between not wanting to give her what she wanted and the desire to get this over with as soon as personal. The taste of copper and illness on his tongue wasn’t something he could recall from dozens of dead memories, but the moans she was making were familiar.

She was distracted.

If he wasn’t wrapped tight and so completely weakened, that might’ve actually been helpful.

All he could do was what she wanted him to do, kiss and lick and suck. And try to figure out some way out. She was wrapped up in enjoying herself, there had to be a way he could get out of this. He just had to pay attention.

The tentacles holding him shifted around. Tips traced along his scrotum and wound around his cock, warm. One slithered down the small of his back, slithering against him and the mat of biomass in this hive. When it slithered between his buttocks and pressed against him, his eyes narrowed and he growled a warning. Her eyes locked on his, studying him with what could’ve been boredom. Or curiousity.

Then the tentacle forced in.

He let out a muffled groan against her, arching his back and attempting to get out from under her. The pain in his back flared briefly before something stroked inside of him. Greene ran a hand through his hair and smirked.

Between being fondled inside and out, and whatever else Greene was doing to him, she got him hard fast. As she continued to make him please her, the tentacles probed and stroked and fucked. HIs muscles tensed.

A mix of stolen memories played in his head as she continued to rape him. Hazings in college or the military, a desperate woman letting her boyfriend cross any lines she had within weeks, a lonely scientist paying a prostitute extra to let him engage in all the resentful fantasies years of rejection had settled him with. Sexual encounters from both sides of the equation. Nothing quite like the feel of the limb inside him branching and twisting and curling in on itself, or the taste of her on his tongue.

He came with another growl muffled by Greene’s cunt, something inside pressing against him and quivering as something warm splattered against his belly. The tentacles around his cock gently squeezed and stroked and kept working until at last the orgasm ceased, its last remnants dripping from his cock.

She came with little fanfare beyond clawing at the back of his head and a seizure, eyes screwed shut, and a series of gasps after she went too long without taking a breath. She regained her composure rapidly and leaned back. Mouth free, Alex began to demand she get off of him, before another tentacle crept up and forced its way into his mouth. His protest turned into a gurgle as a thin tip becgan drifting down his throat.

He shook his head futilely as she wrapped a hand around his member. He was still hard; not normal. Maybe it was just his inuman biology, maybe it was something she was doing. She leaned back and raised herself up.

And then dropped down, taking him to the hilt.

Tentacles crawled up her scarred and sore body as she rode him almost mechanically. Her breasts bounced a little as she bounced up and down, in time with the tentacles inside him shoving in and out. Her warm cunt against his cock and the tentacle inside him was pleasurable; the tentacle in his mouth choking him as it shoved in and out. Counter to that was the Parasite, trying to reassert itself painfully when Greene lifted herself up, and the tentacles inside him pulled out, letting him breath. Greene was continuing to play tug-of-war over his body with the thing.

The pain and pleasure were starting to just blur together, between how much the parasite had emptied him and whatever Greene had done, and the lack of air made things blend together. Greene burned in his eyes and against his body as she kept fucking up senseless, hand against his chest.

He came at least twice inside her, wasn’t paying attention if she did as tentacles bound them and stroked them and fucked them. He didn’t care, he was past that at this point. He just wanted it to be over. His vision blurred and shifted between the visible spectrum and infrared and something else, it became harder to focus. His lungs burned from lack of air, and was wracked when the Parasite shifted or Greene bounced. Things were starting to fade.

Until Greene tore into him. She, the tentacles, he could feel her pulling hard, and the Parasite pulling back. It was excrutiating as hands sank into his torso, bones breaking or shifting out of the way. He’d scream, if his lungs would’ve allowed it. When she pulled _it free,_ every nerve of his blazed for a second then went out.

Alex returned to his senses to Greene riding him to another orgasm. There was no pain intermixed beyond the burning in his lungs, no increasing feeling of hollowness. She’d ripped the parasite out of him. Why? To thank him for this? An attempt to get him on her side? A plan involving it?

He had no clue.

Apparently sated, Greene slid off of him. As the wounds in his chest healed, she regarded him with what looked like boredom, until she gave a slight smirk. A hand ran done his face as she stood, something thick dripping from between her legs. She said nothing as she left him, but he was certain she’d gotten everything she’d wanted out of this encounter.

And he was sure he wanted to kill her.

Without the parasite, or Greene, messing with him, clarity was returning. He was nowhere near full strength, drained in so many ways, but he wasn’t at war with himself any more. Arms shifted, joints moved in ways the tentacles holding him weren’t pepared for. More importantly, he had claws.

He cut his way free, skin rippling as he shakily got to his feet. He had to tug the still-writhing ends of tentacles out of him; the ones that were dug in his body, the one in his throat, the one sodomizing him. Cloth and leather grew in place. He felt better than he had in a while, but he still needed to patch himself up. Then he could track down Greene--whatever she'd done, she'd done it for a _reason_. The obvious one, procreation, was terrifying, given what she was, what he was, and what little he had managed to learn about Hope. He needed to find her fast, because something told him he wouldn't have nine months.

He had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> There were some rather fun prompts requested in this fandom, but Greene's in kinda a fetishy outfit, so crazy evil mohawk zombie tentacle dominatrix, here we go!


End file.
